


The Fall

by nuclearsafetydance



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearsafetydance/pseuds/nuclearsafetydance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So in the end, this was what it came down to. </p><p>Half a year ago, when his biggest concerns had been arranging shifts and reviewing applications, the mere thought of it would have been ridiculous. Him going back into the lion’s den because he felt like he owed Pritchard. More so, that said den would turn out to be Sarif’s headquarters.<br/>That the world would be burning, twisted around the line separating augs and naturals, with Hugh Darrow dead and the UNO desperately struggling to regain control.</p><p>--</p><p>Progress - Goodbyes - Exit - Epilogue</p><p>A string of loosely connected oneshots about Jensen's life after Panchaea and the choices he made there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Progress

The thought always turned up again eventually.

  
He would make another appointment with Vera, seeing her features fill with professional sympathy and, to his surprise, an almost grim satisfaction. His signature was firm and reliable as was Vera’s handshake when she told him she’d be seeing him soon and reminded him not to eat anything before the operation. He walked out of her office with relief.

And afterwards he woke up feeling so much lighter, even though the removal of a single chip from his brain or a part of his dermal armor couldn’t possibly have had any noticeable effect on his weight. But it helped, for a matter of time at least, maybe a month, before he found himself sitting opposite her again.

The space between appointments was shrinking rapidly to a point where he had come back to her with a new request and his old bandages still on. Vera’s approval had been hesitant and doubtful and although he had brushed all objections aside with a wave of his still mechanical hand, he had soon come to realize she had been right. Now, as the bandages were removed and antiseptic sprayed on the infected wound underneath, a sharp hiss escaped him. His lower back burned like fire.

  
“Sorry,” Haas said, “I didn’t mean to…”

“Just get it over with,” he sighed. Haas was easily the worst person for this job, but then again his choices weren’t exactly numerous.

  
“Yeah, sure, I just don’t want to… hurt you.”

  
Jensen turned his head so he could see his face.

“I doubt there’s any avoiding that, Wayne. Now get back to work.”

  
For a moment, Haas looked prepared to object, but then merely shook his head and leant forward again. This time, Jensen was careful not to make a sound as Haas finished cleaning the wound and applied new bandages.

  
“So… you’ll be in for work again soon, right?” Haas asked when he sat up carefully, grimacing from the strain put on his lower back. The hopeful tone in his voice was all too apparent.

Jensen gave a dry laugh.  
“Don’t tell me everyone’s missing me already.“

  
“No, that’s not why… I mean, I wouldn’t know, ‘cause no one ever mentions it. It’s just that… it’s hard without you there.”

  
“And I should take that as what? A compliment?”

  
The floor was cold under his bare feet as he straightened up and limped towards the kitchen. Haas followed him into the dimly lit room, watching him from the doorway.

  
“Take it as you want, I’m just stating the facts. For me at least. I’d feel a lot better if you came back.”

  
With a wave of his hand, Jensen indicated for him to go on while he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

  
“It’s mostly because of Sarif,” Haas continued hesitantly, “he’s never been exactly warm with me, I don’t even know why…”

  
“Guess he still hasn’t forgotten all the problems the DPD caused him back in Milwaukee Junction,” Jensen mused, downing his glass in one gulp and then refilling it, “you’re still a cop in his eyes.”

  
“But I’m not a…”

  
“I know, Wayne. I’m not the one you need to tell that. What about Sarif?”

  
“He’s… getting suspicious. I don’t even know of what, I’ve never given him any reason to. I can’t seem to go anywhere without him turning up and asking questions. How does he even know where I am half of the time?”

  
“What kind of questions?”

  
„I don’t know. Pretty random stuff most of the time. How I’m doing, when I’ve come in for work. Whether I have any questions regarding the next night shift.”

  
Jensen shrugged.

  
“Doesn’t sound that suspicious, to be fair.”

  
“Well, no, at first not. Sarif wouldn’t exactly go at it like a bull at a gate, would he?”

  
He threw Jensen a quick glance.

  
“I guess he knows it’s strange how he stops by to talk to me specifically, so he’s careful about it. But then after some time he just drops the act and starts asking questions I don’t know how to answer. Or even if I should in the first place. Like if I’ve been having any trouble with my superiors lately. How I think we should manage the increasing number of attacks on the headquarters. Where their motivation could come from. Who I think is responsible for all the backlash we’ve been having since… since you came back.”

  
Jensen listened with growing concern as Haas continued recounting everything Sarif had been asking him. The pattern was ambiguous, but unmistakably there, and even the first questions that Haas had dismissed as little more than distractions from the real purpose of their conversations fit into it all too well. It seemed to be a meticulously crafted net that drew closer and closer around a certain point. And Jensen was fairly sure as to what that point was.

  
“What’s the last thing he usually wants you to tell him?”

  
Haas looked far too guilty to not have at least started to figure it out as well.

  
“How you are doing,” he said quietly, suddenly very interested in his fingernails, “if you’ve had another appointment with Dr. Marcovic. I never tell him, though, I…“

  
„Wayne.“

  
As always, the tone in his voice was enough to make Haas flinch.

  
„No, I try to, really, but…”

  
He looked miserable.

  
„It’s not like he’s easy to be around in the first place and I’m nervous enough without him standing in the doorway giving me that... look.”

  
Jensen set his glass down on the kitchen table and pushed past him, giving him a forced smile.  
“Tell him he should at least take you out to dinner first.”

  
He didn’t have to see Haas’ face to guess his reaction. Sure enough, when he carefully lowered himself onto the couch, he had followed him into the living room and glared down at him.  
“You’d better not be fucking around with me.“

  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  
He leant back slightly, trying to ignore the pain that shot through his back, and gestured for Haas to sit down next to him. As much as he wanted to dismiss the whole matter as just another case of Haas’ usual paranoia, Sarif’s behavior gave him another suspicion entirely. He seemed to be closing in on him regarding both his changed attitude towards the company and the real purpose of his appointments at LIMB, despite all of his precautions.

  
“I understand he makes you nervous,” he said finally when he caught Haas staring, “but I need you to give him as little information as possible. I’ll tell him what he wants to know myself soon enough. Understood?”

  
“Yes. I’ll… try.”

  
He sounded even more miserable than before and Jensen couldn’t blame him. Sarif had been friendly to him as an employee of Sarif Industries and even more so after his augmentation, but when Sarif had called him into his office after their return from Panchaea and the long silence in the back of Malik’s VTOL, little had been left of that familiarity. The dim light in the penthouse and the tears in Athene’s eyes were still a vivid memory. As was the harsh set of Sarif’s jaw when they were alone in his office. A week after Picus had started broadcasting Taggart’s version of what had happened, he had begun calling him ‘Jensen’. He supposed if anything it gave him some idea of how Sarif looked like through Haas’ eyes.

  
“So if you want to tell him yourself,” Haas begun, hesitantly running one hand over Jensen’s shoulder, “that means you’ll be back soon?”

  
This time, his tone was almost pleading, and Jensen couldn’t resist leaning into the touch of his careful fingers in his hair.  
“I will. There… seems to be a lot more to clear up than I thought.”

  
“There is.”  
“Hm.”

  
They sat in silence for some time, Haas rubbing his knuckles over Jensen’s scalp before soothing the skin with his palms. Even the city outside seemed unusually quiet for this time of day and Jensen caught himself wishing he could just drop everything, hand in his resignation to the world and never leave this room again. But he knew all too well that wasn’t happening. Not with everything he knew and had been part of, not with Sarif’s grip on him that he got reminded of every time he looked down at either of his mechanical limbs. That he knew was painted all over his insides as well. There might be a way out later, when things had settled down, when he looked human enough again to slip under the radar and disappear for good. Not yet, though, and there was little to be done about that. So he might as well pull himself together and get back to work.  
He sighed, causing Haas to stop his administrations and watch him expectantly.

  
“Who’s on my post while I’m here, I wonder.”

  
Haas laughed quietly, his body shifting against Jensen’s.  
“Pritchard is.”

  
Jensen chuckled lightly in response. It probably wasn’t fair with everything Pritchard had done for him, especially considering his help in keeping Michelle Walters safe, but the image of him trying to order around Jensen’s team of security guards was just too damn good.

  
“And how’s that going for him?”

  
The hand started moving in his hair again.

  
“Not too well. We’ve still got new people coming in every week and with you gone most of the time, he’s been forced to evaluate them all himself and arrange shifts on top of all the network security stuff. You’d think Purity First would be giving us a break after all that’s happened. In short, he’s pretty pissed. I wouldn’t want to get on his wrong side.”

  
Jensen laughed again, though this time less honestly.  
“Something tells me I’m already there. Not like I have a choice though, do I?“

  
Haas didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. So in the end, this was what it came down to. Half a year ago, when his biggest concerns had been arranging shifts and reviewing applications, the mere thought of it would have been ridiculous. Him going back into the lion’s den because he felt like he owed Pritchard. More so, that said den would turn out to be Sarif’s headquarters. That the world would be burning, twisted around the line separating augs and naturals, with Hugh Darrow dead and the UNO desperately struggling to regain control.  
And that his retreat would be the company of Wayne Haas, of all people, whom he hadn’t wasted as much as a thought on before he had met him again in the police station’s lobby. But in some way, as he always did, he would find his place in this mess. After all, he had learnt to adapt.

  
“You mind getting me that glass from the kitchen? Filled,” he added when he saw the smirk on Haas’ face. It still hadn’t vanished when he sat back down next to him, the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. Jensen raised an eyebrow at him.

  
“Planning something?”

  
Haas filled their glasses and handed him one.  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  
Jensen laughed at the sound of his own words coming from Haas’ mouth and downed his glass in one gulp, holding it out for him to fill it again.  
“Because I’m not even close to being drunk enough for that.”

  
Smile growing wider by the second, Haas leant in and kissed him.


	2. Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here we go with chapter two. Brace yourselves, guys, it's not getting better.

„Hello, David.“  
He regretted his familiar approach the second Sarif lifted his head to look at him. Even without the readings his CASIE was giving him, it was obvious he hadn’t slept in a while. There were deep shadows under his eyes and a tightness to his shoulders that looked painful. His clothes however were as spotless as ever, as if by outward appearance alone he was trying to defy the inevitable breakdown of his exhausted body.

  
“What do you want, Jensen? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  
The formal address still sounded unfamiliar to his ears, leaving him with a cold tinge of regret he wasn’t fully willing to admit. Jensen stepped forward until he stood right in front of the desk, trying to ignore the dull ache in his lower back that pleaded him to pull one of the chairs towards him and sit down. He couldn’t allow himself that kind of weakness now. Not in front of this man.

“I want to talk to you. Set some things straight.”  
Sarif put his pencil down, placing it carefully in front of him before looking up again.  
“Okay.”

  
Jensen hesitated for a brief moment, waiting for him to give him a point to start from, a hint on how to do this the best way, but Sarif’s expression remained cold and distant.  
“Okay”, he echoed, “if that’s the way you want to do it.”

  
Sarif blinked, but Jensen didn’t give him time to respond.

  
“There’s actually a couple of things I need to discuss with you. One is my privacy. I appreciate your apparent concern for my health, boss, but it’s still mine to decide whom I talk to about it. I am perfectly capable of distinguishing between the days I’m fit for work and the days I’m not. And I will make sure it won’t affect the tasks you have entrusted me with in any way.”  
He paused again, waiting. Sarif didn’t move.

  
“Apart from that, I’d appreciate it if you would stop asking Wayne Haas about me. He doesn’t have anything to do with this. Nor does anyone else in this company. If it concerns the security of Sarif Industries, I will answer to your questions myself. If it doesn’t, however, I believe by my work contract I am not obliged to.”

Silence fell between them, hard and final. Behind Jensen, the fire gave a sudden crack, reminding him of the fireplace and the big painting of Sarif himself above it. He had always wondered why it depicted him with both of this arms augmented while the real one was still left with a mismatched pair, one human and one mechanic.

  
“Is that all?”, Sarif asked suddenly.

  
Jensen crossed his arms, regretting the familiar gesture when a sharp pain shot through his lower back.  
“Yes, sir.”

  
If Sarif was aware of the sarcasm in his response, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stood up slowly, taking the baseball from its place on a pile of books.  
“I don’t think you understand. I meant... is that all?”

  
His tone was low and threatening. Jensen frowned.

  
“Boss?”

He realised his mistake when his eyes met Sarif’s again.

  
“Is that all you have to say?”, Sarif growled, “after abandoning me like that? Leaving me behind in the machine room without another word? I told you everything. I gave you more than I have given anyone in my whole life... and what did you do? You defected to that lunatic Taggart without so much as a second thought. You just pressed that fucking button like it all had been nothing to you! And now you have the nerve to come to me, telling me what to do, blathering on about your privacy and the specifics of your contract? How dare you.”

  
The last words turned into a sharp hiss that barely made it past his clenched teeth. Unconsciously, he had taken a step forward, his whole body tense as if prepared to attack. Jensen caught himself calculating his chances in case he would. His own augments outranked Sarif’s easily, but he was all too aware of the disadvantage the still healing wound on his back would cause him. As well as the fact that he was currently in a building full of augmented guards tasked with protecting their boss at any cost.

He took a careful step backwards, relieved to see some of the tension leave Sarif’s body.  
“I’m... sorry, boss. I didn’t mean to... This is not how I wanted this conversation to be going. I didn’t come here to talk about any of that.”

  
Sarif still watched him closely, turning the baseball in his mechanical hand.  
“Then what exactly did you come here for, Jensen?”

  
The question went unanswered for a long moment as Jensen pondered his reply. Somewhere outside the room, a telephone chimed endlessly.

  
“Well?”, Sarif asked, growing impatient.

  
Jensen straightened himself as much as his back would allow it.  
“I came here to resign from my post as your chief of security.”

This time, the silence was deafening, the last words echoing between them like gun shots. Jensen listened to them resonate in his own head. This wasn’t what he had had in mind on his way here, not even when he had entered this very room. But now that it had come to him, it made sense, in a hard, certain way, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. This was what every thought of the last few weeks had been leading up to. This was what he had come here for. There wasn’t anything to be fixed anymore.  
Sarif moved, putting the baseball down in a slow, deliberate movement.

  
“No”, he said quietly.

  
Jensen watched his expression carefully, his CASIE noting the subtle twitches in his facial muscles.  
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”  
Sarif just shook his head.  
“Not like that. You think you get to walk out of this after everything you did? No.”

  
He halted, catching himself.

  
“At least... not until you’ve given me some answers.”

  
“As long as it concerns the...”

  
“I don’t fucking care!”, Sarif snapped, his usual cool air of professionalism long gone, “I don’t _fucking_ care about your objections! You don’t get a say in this!”

  
He was breathing heavily now.

  
“And don’t you dare using your CASIE on me! Though I guess you’ve already gotten rid of that as well.”  
Jensen swayed for a second, losing his balance.  
“I haven’t gotten rid of anyth...”

  
“Don’t try to play dumb with me! I know about your arrangements with Dr. Marcovic. You may think you can keep your secrets from me, but maybe you shouldn’t have fed them to that little lapdog of yours. He’s quite talkative once you’ve persuaded him. Why do you think I haven’t fired him already?”

  
Jensen chose to ignore the obvious insult. There was only one way to get this over with quickly and by all means, he wanted it to be over. Over and done so he could crawl back into his cave, numb his back with a few painkillers and sleep.

“Alright”, he said coldly, “your questions, boss.”

  
Sarif blinked.  
“But…”

  
“Your. Questions.”

  
The pain began crawling up his spine, biting into the flesh with blunt teeth, pulling at the corners of his consciousness. He could feel his patience wearing thin.

“Why?”, Sarif asked finally.  
There was a slight tremor to his voice that told Jensen he had asked this question before, more than once. He studied Sarif’s face carefully, wondering whom he had asked and what kind of answers they had given him.  
“I’ve got two answers to that, David”, he said, the informal address placed carefully and with purpose this time, “I’ve got the truth, one that you can feed to Picus once news reaches them that your head of security has abandoned his post like the coward he is.”

  
Sarif’s mouth tightened.  
“I don’t need any of your…”

  
“And”, Jensen interrupted him, noting with satisfaction that Sarif was desperate enough for his answer to let this pass, “I have my truth. One that I doubt anyone outside this room would be interested in, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”  
He watched his words sink in, a hint of insecurity flying across Sarif’s face before he set his jaw in defiance.  
“You say you’ve got two answers for me. And I’ll hear them both.”  
His posture was firm, stubborn even, but his voice betrayed him. Jensen allowed himself the slightest of smiles before he nodded.

“You can tell Picus that I did it because I believed in what Taggart told me. That the augmentation technology is too dangerous to be allowed to develop on its own, without clear boundaries that tie it to the good of humankind. What I have seen on the way that brought me to Panchaea, the augmented killers, the backyard operations, the people whose jobs were taken by those _evolved_ beyond what they could ever hope to afford. The companies pushing their moral limits for profit and profit alone. We can’t go on like this.”

  
If possible, the line of Sarif’s mouth became even tighter, the muscles in his jaw working underneath the skin.  
“And the… _your_ truth?”, he asked, stretching the word.

  
Jensen took a deep breath.  
“I can’t go on like this.”  
“You already said tha…”  
“No, David, I didn’t. There’s a difference between ‘we’ and ‘I’, you see? The truth is, I don’t care what happens to the world anymore. I stopped caring a long time ago, when I realized nothing I could do would possibly effect the grand course of things. Whatever choice I make, the men behind all of this…”

  
He shook his head.

  
“They are going to win in the end. There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing I want to do anymore except to step away from all of it, disappear into some godforsaken hole and die like everyone else will.”  
 _Like Faridah did._

A long pause followed in which Jensen stared into Sarif’s eyes, daring him to oppose, before Sarif sighed and gestured at the chair in front of his desk instead.  
“Take a seat.”

  
For a moment, Jensen considered refusing. Then he was already lowering himself into the offered chair, leaning forward slightly to avoid touching the back rest and doing his best not to let the relief show on his face. Judging by the look on Sarif’s face, he might have just as well not even tried at all.

  
“Does it hurt?”  
“A bit.”

  
Sarif nodded absently.  
“I suppose it comes with… losing parts of yourself.”  
Jensen didn’t object.

  
“Adam, I… I don’t understand it. You were supposed to be more than this, more than the petty fights we’re wasting our time with now. What we have now might not be ideal, but it’s just a step. One single step on a long road to a better place for us all. You were supposed to be the next one, getting us so much closer to self-determined evolution, to… a new definition of humankind in itself! How can you not want to…?”  
He gestured helplessly.  
“Did you never believe in anything I told you? Anything of what I was trying to build?”  
“Does it matter?”

  
It was as much an answer as the real one, and despite Sarif’s expression remaining completely unchanged, Jensen knew that he had understood. All tension seemed to have left his body, his posture frail and tired. Jensen studied his face, looking for a trace of the man he had once known in the heavy set of his jaw and the feverish glow of his eyes. He found nothing.

  
“Is that all?”, he asked, the question a mere echo of Sarif’s cold fury.  
Sarif didn’t seem to notice it.  
“Yes, I will... tell Athene to take care of... everything.”  
He waved his hand absently, looking through Jensen at the painting over the fire place.  
“Go.”  
Jensen nodded silently, taking his leave without another word. There wasn’t anything left to be said.

  
Athene’s stare followed him into the elevator and out onto the dimly lit street.


	3. Exit

„Adam, I don’t like this.“

Jensen gave an exasperated sigh and threw Haas a glance that should, under normal circumstances, have made him shrink to a considerable extent. Strangely enough, it didn’t.

“Oh yeah? Thanks for reminding me.”

If he’d have to be honest, he didn’t like this either. They were in the outskirts of the city, in a bar hidden so far in a maze of dimly lit side-alleys and backyards that Jensen was surprised it had any guests at all. Yet they lingered around the worn-out tables and in the dark corners, hidden in the collars of oversized trench coats, behind dirty scarves or under the brim of their hats. This was obviously a place where you cared less about your opposite’s face and more about what they had to offer.

Their entrance, especially Jensen’s imposing figure in his black coat, had caused a few raised heads and a rush of whispered, hostile conversation that had died down quickly once they had realized they weren’t here to cause any trouble. Only occasionally did someone throw a glance when they thought they weren’t looking, lingering on the pronounced scar just below Jensen’s hairline and the cold shine of his mechanical hands. He slid them deeper into the sleeves of his coat and wished he still had his extendible lenses to cover his eyes.

Haas leant forward, pushing aside the glass of nondescript liquid on the table in front of him.

“Obviously I need to since you still aren’t listening to anything I say”, he hissed, “you think this is a good idea? Look at them. Half of them will stick a knife in our backs for a handful of credits in no time and the other half is probably only holding back because they’re too fucked up to remember their own name!”

“I’m sure they’ll be up to it again by the time you’re done complaining.”

He took a sip from his glass and threw a quick glance over his shoulder.The bar stools by the counter were empty safe for a blue-haired woman in a pair of camouflage trousers. Their eyes met for a split second before Jensen turned around again. Even without checking he could tell she was watching him.

“Look, Wayne.”

He leant forward as well, their faces now within inches of each other.

“We’ll be out of here the second I have what I want. Okay?”

Going by his expression, Haas was in no way convinced, but he nodded nonetheless. Jensen gave him a half-hearted smile.

“Good. Now be a good boy and drink your milk while we’re waiting.”

“You mean that stuff?”

He eyed his glass suspiciously.

“I’m not sure I’ll actually survive that.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it”, a quiet voice behind Jensen said.

The blue-haired woman had apparently chosen to abandon her vantage point to get a closer look at them. A creak of protest came from the aging tabletop as she put down both hands on it, giving Haas a short glance before turning to Jensen. The side of her neck was covered in a spidery tattoo that disappeared under the collar of her shirt.

“What do you say if I buy you a better one, handsome?”

She smiled, the corners of her mouth digging tiny dimples into her cheeks. A faint smell of motor oil surrounded her.

“No, thank you”, Haas said before Jensen had any chance to react. There was an iron edge to his voice that he couldn’t remember having heard before.

The woman turned around.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember speaking to you.”

“Well, you are now. So how about you leave us alone and go back to minding your own business?”

Jensen saw his hand moving underneath his jacket, to the holster where he knew he was keeping his gun. The woman seemed to have seen it as well, taking a step backwards before flashing another smile in Jensen’s direction.

“Fine. Just let me know when you’ve grown tired of your babysitter here and want someone better…”

She stalked back towards the counter, sliding onto her stool and ordering a drink with a wave of her hand.

Jensen turned around to look at Haas who was still keeping his hand under his jacket, in reach of the pistol.

“Jesus, Wayne. Didn’t know you were that easy to get jealous.”

Haas’ mouth was a tight line in his face.

“And I didn’t know you were that much of an idiot. Didn’t you see her hand? The ring on her index finger?”

Jensen glanced at the scratched tabletop as if her hand was still resting on it.

“No, I…”

“She’s a chaser, Adam. Would’ve drugged you, taken you out back and cut off your arms. Along with everything else that looks like it’s worth selling. They’re all over the city these days.”

He shook his head, finally letting go of the holster.

“I thought you met the same type in Hengsha. How did they call themselves?”

“Harvesters.”

“Exactly.”

Haas took a careful sip from his glass and grimaced.

“Sometimes I wonder how you ever made it to SWAT commander with that thick skull of yours.”

Despite himself, Jensen could feel a grin forming on his lips.

“Now you’re sounding just like Pritchard.”

“That right?”

Haas rubbed his chin, lost in thoughts for a moment.

“You know, he asked me about you. If you were really gone for good. Suppose he didn’t want to draw any attention to it or he would’ve gone to Sarif himself.”

“And you told him what?”

“That the letter arrived over a week ago. So yeah, pretty final I’d say.”

He hesitated for a second.

“That was okay, wasn’t it? I mean, I would’ve asked you, but then again he was gonna find out eventually, anyway, so…”

Jensen raised his hand to cut him off.

“Yes, it was okay, Wayne. Don’t worry.”

Haas looked embarrassed for a moment, reaching for his glass to take a bigger gulp than his mouth seemed to be able to handle. A drop of milky liquid ran down his chin.

Jensen lowered his gaze to his own drink and tried to make sense of the feeling Haas’ words had given him. It was a strange thought that Pritchard would actually miss him. He’d never have expected it and yet it felt… good. Like he was leaving something behind.

Opposite him, Haas’ posture suddenly became tense.

“Adam.”

“Hm?”

He nodded towards the far end of the bar.

“That the guy you’re looking for?”

Jensen glanced over his shoulder. The man leaning against the counter didn’t seem as concerned with hiding his face as the majority of the guests. And judging by the friendly nod the bartender was giving him, he was no strange to this place, either. He was dressed unremarkably in a pair of black trousers and a grey sweater, but Jensen would have recognized him by the eye-patch and the noose around his neck alone.

“You wait here”, he said to Haas, pushing back his chair. For a second, it looked like he was trying to hold him back, but then his hand merely closed around his glass again.

“Be careful.”

Sanders looked up as Jensen approached him. He appeared younger than the last time he had seen him, a strange glow illuminating his eyes and a fresh scar splitting his cheek.

“You’re late.”

Sanders simply raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, the famous Adam Jensen. All alone these days, I hear.”

He made a lazy gesture in Haas’ direction.

“Except for him, hm? Your little lap dog. You fuck him with those machine fingers?”

Jensen looked back at him, unimpressed.

“I believe that’s none of your business.”

“So you do. Interesting. I hope he’s as good as he looks.”

“Why? Afraid I might take him over you?”

A flicker of irritation crossed Sanders’ face before he shook his head, leaning back against the counter.

“Very funny, ese. How about we cut the crap and get down to business. What do you want?”

Jensen decided to bypass the fact it had been Sanders’ call to start them off with a verbal pissing contest in the first place.

“I need your brother’s help.”

As he had expected, the mention of Isaias served nothing to make Sanders any more compliant. Quite the contrary. He fixated Jensen with a cold glare from his remaining eye, slowly twisting the cord around his neck between two fingers.

“And what makes you think he would help someone like you?”

Jensen didn’t have to ask what he meant by that.

“Because I’m willing to pay him a considerable amount of money if he does. And I’d go so far as to say that after the whole fiasco with Taggart, that’s something he can hardly afford to turn down.”

If anything, Sander’s expression darkened even further.

“Do not talk about that _pendejo de mierda_ in my presence. That filthy, lying bastard is gonna get what’s coming for him.”

Jensen crossed his arms over his chest, studying him carefully.

“Sounds like some hard feelings you’ve got there. What happened? Is he no longer willing to regard arson and vandalism as _helping the good cause_?”

Sanders leant forward slightly, his single eye shining like a hard stone.

“Men of his type, they’re all the same. Hiding behind their tailored suits and their bright fucking smiles, promising you all kinds of shit if you’ll work for them. Help them do the right thing. Liars, all of them.”

He inclined his head, his gaze never leaving Jensen’s face.

“You’re familiar with one yourself, aren’t you? Sarif can talk about freedom of evolution all he wants, but in the end, he’s just one of them. A dog handler like Taggart, feeding his obedient pups all sorts of crap until they’re grown up and believe everything he says.”

For all the disagreement between Sarif and him, all the resentment he held against his former boss himself, Jensen couldn’t help but feel a tinge of anger building in his stomach, urging him to shut him up. Sanders was still watching him, as if he knew what he was thinking about. As if he was daring him to lash out.

Jensen shifted his weight to his other leg to get a few inches of distance between them. If he managed to keep a clear head, he’d have him back where he wanted him.

“So that means your brother’s not working for Taggart anymore.”

Sander’s mouth twisted into the derisive imitation of a grin.

“What, you think I’d let him run back to that son of a bitch? Oh no, _pendejo_. Isaias might be an idiot when it comes to putting his trust in people, but I’m not. And after I’ll be through with Taggart, he’ll understand that. He’ll understand that he deserves it for using my brother like that, dropping him like he was just a fucking…”

He paused abruptly as if he had already said too much. A violent flush crept up his neck, slowly extending to his cheeks.

Jensen allowed himself the hint of a smile.

“Seems like you could also use some extra cash, then.”

He held out his hand.

“Do we have a deal?”

Sanders stared at it for a long moment, a short flash of disgust flying across his face before he squared his shoulders and shook it.

“Yes.”


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand the last part. Phew, this one was hard to write and I'm not fully content with how it turned out, but oh well. It's here at last.

Right from the moment he had first met him, Haas had decided he didn’t like Sandoval.

His movements were exact and calculated, each of them executed with a careful precision that seemed to be born from a constant evaluation of their loss and gain, one never outweighing the other. Even when he had greeted him he had only pressed his hand once before letting go, as if any more would throw his balance off guard.  
By contrast, the way he talked was messy and agitated, lashing out against even the slightest trace of an attack on his person. Only his hands seemed to be truly comfortable with being in this place. The contradiction was making Haas’ head spin.

He didn’t trust him.

Not even now that Sandoval was sitting next to Jensen’s makeshift sickbed, one arm behind his back to keep him from falling backwards.

He couldn’t trust him.

But, despite all of it, he had to admit he was doing his job well. His voice was a steady constant over the noises Jensen made in attempt to fill his lungs with enough air to stay conscious.

“Slow breaths.”

Jensen wheezed, desperately clinging to the arm that was holding him upright.

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Sandoval took his hand and pressed it against his own chest, keeping it in place while he drew a few calm breaths.

“Like this. Just focus on me and try to do the same.”

Jensen was visibly shaking with the effort to keep himself steady, but apart from tightening his grip, Sandoval didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. His hands were as calm as ever.

Haas hated him for it. He could feel his own clenching and unclenching mechanically while he listened to Jensen’s ragged breaths gradually slowing down.

Finally, Sandoval nodded.

“Good.”

Jensen lifted his head, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead.

“That mean… we’re done with… gymnastics… for the… day?”

The smile was gone from Sandoval’s face as fast as it had appeared, but Haas saw it nonetheless.

“We are indeed.”

He eased Jensen’s body back down, pulling up the covers and readjusting the mask on his face. A wet sound originated from it as he greedily sucked in the oxygen it provided him with.

Sandoval reached for his notepad.

“Your recovery seems to be going well... under the circumstances, that is. However, you’ll still need a fair amount of physical therapy to get your muscles and natural tissue used to doing most of the work themselves again.”

Jensen gave a laugh that sounded more like a strangled cough.

“Somehow I don’t really see that happening.”

Another smile flickered across Sandoval’s face.

“I should’ve seen that coming.”

He stood up.

“Do you want me to give you something for the pain?”

Jensen shook his head.

“I’m good.”

For a brief moment, Sandoval’s fingers lingered over the faint glow of his electronic notepad as if he wanted to add something. When he brought them down, however, it was merely to deactivate the device.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He gave Haas a curt nod he didn’t bother to return before closing the door behind him. The cold click drowned in the screech of four metallic legs being dragged across the tiled floor as Haas relocated to the other side of the room.  
He didn’t apologize for the noise.  
Instead, he fell down into his chair again and stared at the mess that was left of Jensen’s body, held together by stitches and starch-white bandages, the visible patches of his skin covered in deep bruises. Sitting this close to him, the stench of disinfectant was so strong it was almost unbearable.

“Are you happy now?”

Jensen didn’t open his eyes, but a strange smile pulled at the mask over his mouth and nose.

“Why are you so angry, Wayne?”

His voice was calm, content even, as if he hadn’t just exhausted himself merely sitting up. As if he didn’t know Haas had been watching every second of it.

“Why do you even have to ask?”, he spat, desperately trying to contain the urge to grab Jensen by his deformed shoulders and shake him until he came to his senses.

“Do you know how you look? Have you seen the mess that’s left of you?”

Apparently, his tone was enough to convince Jensen that this was the kind of conversation better held with both eyes open. The delicate circles around his iris spun and contracted as he focused on Haas’ face.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Care to enlighten me?”

Haas swallowed thickly.

“Don’t play games with me.”

Jensen looked up at him, his expression cool and unmoving.

“I’m serious. Tell me.”

“As if you’ve never seen yourse…”

“That’s not what I mean. Yes, I have seen my body, but I’m more interested in what you are seeing. And what it is that makes you so angry.”

Haas made a helpless gesture towards his torso.

“This. All of it. I don’t understand, I…”

He broke off, trying to make sense of his own thoughts. There was so much even he himself couldn’t put into words.

“You told me you wanted to get rid of some of them. To pass as a human being once again, to not be reminded of what happened every time you come across a mirror.”

Jensen nodded, the movement of his head producing a thin scraping against the pillowcase.

“I did.”

“Then what is this? You’re not passing as a normal human again, you’re an invalid at best. You’ll be depending on the help of others for the rest of your life, how… how is that any better than before?”

Again, Jensen’s lips curled into that strange smile, careless and content. Almost delusional.

“Ah, but you’re missing the most important part, Wayne. I might be crippled and helpless and everything you just said, but it’s still the closest I will ever get to being human. I might be an invalid, but only because I chose to be one. I know it’s difficult to understand, but I’m feeling better than I have in a long time.”

He shifted slightly and grimaced.

“Well, figuratively speaking.”

Haas shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re just… I don’t even know why I’m still here.”

Jensen paused for a moment.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I understand if you don’t want to stay. I don’t know what made you do so in the first place, but…”

He lifted his still mechanical hand.

“Whatever it was, I don’t think there’s too much left of it. Might be better if you… walked out while you can. Leave me to my business.”

A heavy silence fell between them, filling Haas’ insides with an icy dread as he realised just what he had just said. He took a breath, then another one.

“So you’re telling me you want to die.”

Jensen’s gaze became unfocused, wandering off into the room. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its carelessness, resonating instead with a dark tone that made Haas’ skin crawl.

“No. I wanted to, before. Now I just… don’t want to live anymore.”

Haas stayed silent, which he seemed to take as an invitation to go on.

“I don’t care what happens to me. Or to the world for that matter. There's nothing I could care less about. I’ll just... disappear into some hole and wait for it all to end.”

His voice was slowly dying away until it was no more than a soft murmur, as if he had forgotten that Haas was still in the room and was only speaking to himself. The smile on his face was back, this time with a hard edge to it. Haas could see the muscles of his jaw clenching underneath his skin whenever he paused for a moment.

He waited, although he wasn’t entirely sure for what. For him to stop and realize how utterly hopeless he sounded. To pull himself out of it as he always had when he started talking like this. In the dead of the night, when they were still slumped down on the couch, the TV painting their faces a sickly gray, Jensen’s head a heavy weight against his shoulder. When he would pretend he hadn't heard his words just so he didn't have to think about what they meant.

Whatever it was he had hope for, it didn’t come. Jensen’s eyes closed slowly. If not for the endless stream of words still pouring out of him, Haas would’ve thought he was dozing off.

“So that’s your plan?” he asked when Jensen had finally fallen silent.

“Mmh.”

Haas gritted his teeth.

 “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard in a long while.”

No reaction from Jensen, not even that wretched smile leaving his face. He looked so content it was making Haas feel sick.

“You know what you are?” he spat. “A goddamn coward. You think hiding away like that will make you feel any better? I’m telling you it won’t. You’re destroying yourself, that’s what you’re doing. What else did you expect?”

He shook his head.

“And did you honestly think I was going to let you do that all on your own?”

It was only then that Jensen’s hand snapped at his arm, gripping it with more force than Haas would’ve expected of his ruined body.

“And what makes you think that’s yours to decide, hm?,” he hissed, his tone a spark of his former presence. “I’m not letting anyone decide what happens to me anymore. Neither to my life nor my body. Not even you. ”

His unnaturally bright eyes seemed to glow in their sockets, a slow, burning intensity. Still Haas could see the difference to the expression they had held before, if only ever so slightly. He leant forward to place a hand on Jensen’s shoulder, easily freeing himself from his grip. The skin under his fingers gave off a feverish warmth.

“Well, but I’m still here, aren’t I.”

Jensen growled, averting his gaze.

“I said: You can leave right now.”

“And I’m telling you that’s not what I'm going to do.”

“Wayne.”

For a brief second, Haas felt a familiar push in the back of his mind, urging him to back down, to let it go. Instead, he tightened his grip on Jensen’s shoulder.

“No, now you’ll shut up and listen, Adam.”

And to both their surprise, he did.

\--

They left the facility the next morning, Haas pushing Jensen’s wheelchair out into the cold November air.

Sandoval hadn’t approved of the premature discharge, but seeing as both the operation itself and Jensen’s presence in the military hospital had been off the books, he didn’t have much of a choice but to let him go lest he attracted unwanted attention. He had, however, dosed him with a significant amount of painkillers and tranquilizers to ensure that his body remained stable. Jensen drifted in and out of a heavy, drug-induced sleep, and Haas caught himself thinking that it was probably easier this way.

It was still early, the patches of fog lingering just above the street swallowing the sounds of Haas’ footsteps. The city didn't seem to have awoken just yet. Safe for the stutter of an unwilling car engine somewhere in the distance, it was so eerily quiet that Haas had to resist the urge to glance over his shoulder every few seconds. His hand slipped to the holster under his coat, the cool surface a reassuring pressure against his fingers. There was no one behind them, and even if there had been, he would have known how to take care of them.

Pritchard had parked the car a few streets further into the suburbs. He was leaning against the driver's door, an entirely unconvincing expression of disinterest on his face as Haas approached him. Even from a few meters away, he could see his glance flickering down to the lifeless body of his former co-worker.

“So,” he greeted him coolly, “someone finally managed to take him out for good. I must admit I'm impressed.”

The offhand remark didn't even come close to masking the quiet concern in his voice.

Haas shrugged.

“Don't get your hopes up just yet. He might not leave us be for too long.”

As if to prove him right, Jensen gave an inarticulate groan, his head tilting dangerously to the side before Haas managed to get a hold of it and place it safely against the backrest.

Pritchard raised a brow.

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

For the briefest moment, Haas felt tempted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Jensen had gone back to sleep, albeit murmuring under his breath, and Pritchards expression seemed to be frozen somewhere between spiteful amusement and genuine care as he watched him, his hand halfway out of his pocket as if weighting his chances. It was the most emotion Haas had ever seen him show towards anyone apart from antipathy or blatant disrespect. As fascinating as that was, he was getting cold quickly, and he doubted any prolonged exposure to the freezing air would do Jensen any good, either.

“So, could we get this under way already? I hadn't exactly planned on spending the rest of the morning out here.”

His voice snapped Pritchard out of whatever thoughts he had become engrossed in over the past minutes.

“Right. Neither did I.”

His hand disappeared into his pocket again, only to resurface a second later with the car key. Activated with a quiet click, the car's headlights flashed in response as the doors opened.

“You better put him somewhere in the back, get him buckled up if possible. Don't want any unfortunate incidents now, do we.”

Haas crossed his arms over his chest.

“And you're not going to help me?”

Pritchard had already dropped into the driver's seat, stretching his legs.

“I'm sorry, the job description said car service only.”

He threw him a glance that didn't even bother to hide his gloating.

“Get moving. I thought you said you didn't have all day.”

Cursing under his breath, Haas wrenched Jensen's limp body from the wheelchair, not without it skidding to the side in an infuriating semicircle when he had already gotten his upper body onto the rear bench seat and was trying to have his legs follow suit. It took him a good ten minutes until he was safely fastened into a seat next to him and the wheelchair stashed into the rear trunk. By then, he was drenched in sweat and almost willing to thank whatever heavenly force had kept Jensen unconscious during the whole ordeal.

“Are we finally done?”

If possible, Pritchard's grin had grown even wider. For a split second, Haas pondered if it wouldn't have been easier to just do this on foot, push Jensen through the whole damn Derelict Row District to the flat they shared. Anything to avoid having to deal with any more of Pritchard's obnoxious remarks.

He bit back whatever insult would've been appropriate and put his arm around Jensen's shoulders. His skin was burning against his fingers again.

“Waiting on you now.”

Pritchard's snarl in the rear view mirror was devoid of all its usual bite.

“Alright. Let's see how far we get until Sleeping Beauty here decides to honour us with his presence again.”

The car kicked into gear with a yelp of protest under Pritchard's heavy foot on the gas pedal. They sped down the street towards the center, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of exhaust fumes that soon dissolved into the morning air.


End file.
